Chapter Text
"Sir" Mycroft started, looking up into the eyes of a nurse.
"Yes, sorry." Mycroft drew himself up straight, leaning on his new umbrella. His mother had given it to him as a present, telling him it was more of a metaphor than anything, a shield against anything life could pour on him. It was not helping now.
"You can go in now, though he isn't conscious. The drugs are still being filtered out of his system. He is, however, stable."
Mycroft thanked her again, before she left him at the door to room 221. He breathed in once before walking, to see his brother alone, lying on the bed, his face paler than he had ever seen before.
He sat down in the hard plastic seat that was standard for the hospital, left to contemplate his guilt as he waited for his baby brother to wake up.
---flashback---
"Mummy" Sherlock sniffled, clutching at his mother's dress tiredly as she continued sewing. "When's Mycoff comin' home?" he asked as he rubbed his eyes with a tiny fist.
"Soon, love. I already told you he would be late, he went over to a friend's for the evening."
"Aren't I his fwend?" he whimpered, fat tears brimming in his over-tired eyes. As she sighed, the mop of curls over her son's eyes was pushed out of the way as she put a hand on his face, kissing his forehead.
"He has friends his own age, Sherlock. He won't always be here. Besides, soon he'll be going to big school, and he won't be back for a long time. You should spend more time with the nanny."
"But she's boring." he complained in his high pitched voice.
"Well, you have no one else here. You'll just have to make do. Don't forget your manners, or you'll hurts nanny's feelings."
"I don't care about her feelings" Sherlock tried to fold his arms, scrunching up his face. "she told me I was stwange." Cynthia's eyes narrowed, before her face regained its passive mask.
"Well, how about we get a new nanny then?" she suggested, to Sherlock's delight.
"Thank you mummy." he cried, then skipped away, almost tripping on his socks as he flew out the door.
Later that night, Cynthia passed by the front hallway, by the main door, and saw Sherlock curled up in a chair, fast asleep, no doubt waiting for his brother. She sighed affectionately as she rubbed his cheek. She knew if she tried moving him, he would immediately wake up and demand to be left where he was. As she checked the clock, she realised it was past his bedtime, but allowed him to stay as he was asleep. She walked away, up to her room. Mycroft would put him to bed.
Later on, when Mycroft finally did come in, he frowned as he saw his baby brother curled up in an armchair.
"Silly sod..." he muttered to himself as he went over and gently woke him. As his little eyes opened, they widened as they came into focus on him.
"Mycoff!" he whispered excitedly as he hopped down from the seat, hugging onto one of his legs. Mycroft patted his back, trying to walk, but finding it impossible.
"Come on, Sherlock, time for bed. You should have been put up hours ago." He bent down and picked up the wriggling body of excitement, who latched onto his neck as he started to climb the stairs. "Is father home, Sherlock?"
"No, he's gone on a buses trip." he said quickly.
"You mean business?" Mycroft laughed, causing Sherlock to frown.
"I don't, I mean buses. He said a buses trip and he wouldn't be home for a fourth night."
"A fortnight, you mean?" Mycroft corrected him again, amused as his little brother buried his curly haired head into his neck, frustrated.
"Just cause you're older doesn't make you clevererer."
"While that's true, you're only three. You don't have a brilliant grasp of memory skills, obviously." he muttered, laying his brother down onto his bed. The boy lay still for all of two seconds before sitting up, energy renewed.
"Mycoff, we're getting a new nanny!"
"Oh Sherlock, what did you do this time?"
Mycroft remembered the last nanny getting fired when Sherlock remarked in front of guests that he wasn't aware that you could have more than one partner at a time, like the nanny. Needless to say, father's guests had been appalled at the thought of father's nanny being an adulteress and he had fired her on the spot. From that day, Sherlock hadn't been allowed at dinner when there were guests around, instead made to eat in the kitchen with cook.
"It wasn't my fault, Mycoff. Mummy just said I was getting a new one!"
"Are you sure? What did you tell her? Nothing about nanny, I hope?" Sherlock looked slightly guilty, in that way that three years olds always do.
"Well, I told mummy that she called me stwange, and mummy was angry. I didn't do anything, promise." his eyes widened as he looked into Mycroft's almost pleading him to believe him.
"Oh, well, that's alright then. Goodnight, Sherlock, I'll see you in the morning." he ruffled the child's hair before backing away.
As he walked away, he saw Sherlock fall back onto his pillow, falling asleep just as fast. He smiled the smile he saved only for his brother, before walking out and closing the door.